What Can I Say To Make Your Body Come This Way
by rayychel infinity
Summary: He's been scripting this moment since he bought the items, running lines through his head more meticulously than he had back during West Side Story. He wants to seem romantic, not overeager, for their first Skype date since Kurt left, though he's sure romanticism is a bit of a stretch for what he wants to do.


**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "High Hopes In Velvet Ropes" by The Cab.  
Warnings are: use of toys, swearing. Uh, that's about it.

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
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Blaine's not sure why he's nervous, fidgety; they've done things not-quite-but-like this before and they're both comfortable enough with each other after nearly a year and a summer of time to experiment, to map out and get used to the feel of another body. By this point in time Blaine knows Kurt's body almost as well as his own, knows every muscle and ligament, crevasse and dip, the signs of _too much_ and _more, please keep going_. They both know how to tease, how to please in just the right way, and nothing has been or ever will be awkward. Communication, Kurt's said (with the golden light of morning playing across his face, highlighting his cheekbones and giving even more depth to his eyes), is key, and they have no shortage of that, not after the Chandler incident.

But when Kurt's Skype call pops up on his computer, interrupting the research Blaine's doing for his AP History paper, his heart starts pounding and anxiety settles low in a knot in his stomach. It's not quite dread and apprehension but it's too close for Blaine's taste—it's how he'd felt moments before that first kiss, that declaration that had been originally planned out but had somehow morphed and grew a life of its own halfway through. His mind quickly flashes to his bedside drawer, to the two items he'd just placed in it, and he really, really hopes that it's going to be a good idea. He's not one for going out on a limb, usually, and the last thing he wants to do is disappoint.

Clicking on 'accept,' he gives Skype a moment to give him the video, and when it shows up he breathes out a laugh as the nervous pounding of his heart fades into an excited one, a tight feeling of longing settling deep within his chest. There Kurt is, tangible and real and all _his_, and seeing Kurt's face helps a little bit of the anxiety melt away, reminds him that this is _Kurt_ and Kurt has never, not once, shown disdain for anything Blaine's suggested. He hopes that they never reach that point in their relationship. "Hey," he says, unable to stop the grin from spreading over his face, uncaring that he sounds like a breathy, smitten schoolgirl.

Kurt returns the smile readily, biting his lower lip before replying with his own just-as-breathy "Hey." Blaine's not sure if it's the lighting or the complete absence of seeing Kurt's face for nearly two months; whatever it is, to Blaine, Kurt looks more radiant than ever.

It's only been two months since Kurt left, but in that time Blaine's been learning what it's like to be alone, to not have the luxury of calling Kurt up to ask him to hang out or go for a date or to get coffee. The stark loneliness crowds in on him at times, suffocating and engulfing, but he does his best to push through it, to remember that there are still holidays and long weekends and that Kurt isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Kurt changes yearly and Blaine's going to miss this year's, he knows it, and it hurts. Already Kurt's hair is longer, the swoop bigger and more dramatic. It's still sun-kissed from their summer outdoors, bits of honey-gold streaking through chestnut like sun's rays through clouds, and Blaine allows himself a small, sad smile at that. He wonders if Kurt's still filling out, his shoulders getting broader and his muscles getting more definition. Blaine had definitely noticed the difference before Kurt left and it's plagued his dreams and fantasies since then, giving him delicious detail of defined muscles flexing under porcelain-pale skin, of being taken and owned by a body he's only dreamed about.

(And _owned_, being told what to do and when to do it, whether or _not_ to do it—somehow everything has evolved into that after heated words that led to talks and finally to some truly amazing sex.)

He's been scripting this moment since he bought the items, running lines through his head more meticulously than he had back during _West Side Story_. He wants to seem romantic, not overeager, for their first Skype date since Kurt left, though he's sure romanticism is a bit of a stretch for what he wants to do. That doesn't stop the nerves from buzzing, the flush from creeping up his neck, and he finds himself clearing his throat awkwardly, drumming his fingers on his jean-clad knee while he looks around his room and stares a little too long at his striped wallpaper and neutral-toned color scheme.

He just needs to find the right words, that's all. Kurt's waiting patiently in his dorm in New York, smiling fondly at him through video connection, and there's nothing awkward about it. They've had discussions before, ones where they'd giggled and blushed because they'd had no clothes on and had been covered in sweat and come, but those hadn't really been _awkward_ in the sense that one would associate with the word.

"I bought something." Blaine blurts it out; he doesn't mean to, _no_, but the words just come tumbling past his lips before he can stop them. He feels his face heat up more as Kurt raises an eyebrow, adjusting his laptop on his dorm bed. The image sways and fuzzes for a few seconds, giving Blaine a nice view of the plain white-painted brick of the wall before Kurt's righting it, coming back into focus with an amused look on his face.

"Your tone of voice tells me that it's not a new bowtie or cardigan," Kurt replies, a hint of smirk in his voice even as his face remains devoid of any noticeable emotions.

Blaine flushes darker, rubbing the back of his neck as he laughs self-consciously. "Uh, well, no. It's something a little more useful for, like, a—oh, screw it." He's already in deep; he may as well finish it. He takes a deep breath and says, in a rush of jumbled consonants and vowels, "I bought a dildo. One of those suction-cup ones."

Kurt sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly through the connection; the addition of the last half of Blaine's sentence makes his intention clear. "Well. This certainly wasn't what I was expecting when I called you." His voice rises at the end, going into a squeak, and Blaine allows himself a moment to preen at catching Kurt off-guard.

"I miss you," Blaine says, truthfully. _So much it hurts_ he thinks but doesn't add. "I miss every part of you, as cheesy as that sounds."

"You are pretty cheesy," Kurt muses, a hint of a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. "But then again, if you weren't you wouldn't be my amazing, sexy boyfriend Blaine."

Blaine laughs and feels the anxiety and apprehension begin to drain out of him, its place being filled by the familiar warmth he gets around Kurt. "I haven't used it yet," he admits. "I was kind of hoping that I could…show you?"

Blaine can see the moment Kurt nearly drops the laptop and he can't help but bark out a laugh. "Oh, god, _yes_," Kurt breathes, his answer quick on his tongue. "Yes, I—_fuck_ I miss you."

"Me too." A fond smile crosses Blaine's face before he's leaning back, turning around and opening his drawer to rummage through it. He grabs the lube and the dildo, shutting the drawer and then dropping the items on the bed. He pauses for a moment, hesitating, and strips off his shirt, hoping the ripple of his back muscles isn't lost through the grainy connection. This is the first time they've done something like this, both with the toy and Skype, and it's a bit nerve-wracking, yes, but also oddly thrilling.

"Let me see." It's the first thing Kurt says when Blaine turns around, demanding and curious and already more than a little turned-on. Blaine grabs the dildo from the bed and shifts on his knees so he's facing his laptop. He runs his fingers over the artificial veins, past the base and balls and to the suction-cup behind, and holds it out, wetting his lips. Kurt gives a tiny nod.

"I bet you can't wait to fuck yourself on that, can you?" The words come out dark and filthy, the tone enough to raise the hairs of the back of Blaine's neck and stir his cock in his jeans. Kurt's used that tone enough that Blaine knows exactly what's going to happen from just a handful of simple words.

He shakes his head back-forth once, quickly, and lets his thumb swipe over the smooth head. Drawing his lip between his teeth he looks at the laptop, sees Kurt's eyes intent on him, mouth stretched thin. It's a look he knows, has gotten more times than he can count, and without thinking about it, without letting the idea linger too long, he's bringing the dildo to his mouth, tongue darting out to skirt around the slope and curve of the smooth silicone head.

He moans, though it's more out of reflex and memory and _fulfillment _than anything. The toy still tastes new, fake, and he longs for the bitter-salty _real_ taste of Kurt's cock, of the pulse that jumps under tongue and fingertips. Still, he keeps his eyes locked on the laptop as he sinks his mouth lower, lips sealed tight around the girth until his cheeks hollow on his slide up. Immediately he's falling into his role, a lock clicking into place, and he spaces his legs wider on the bed, leaning his weight backward and breathing harshly through his nose.

Kurt swallows audibly onscreen, mouth parted just a little, and Blaine thinks he can see a gentle tilt of the laptop, a slight, nearly-imperceptible rocking movement that must mean Kurt's rubbing himself through his jeans and _fuck_, Blaine wants to see, wants to feel and touch and taste and be the reason Kurt comes apart like a poor-quality ribbon.

Another moan, sliding up to suck and swirl his tongue around the head, and Blaine brings a hand down to the front of his own jeans, finds the hardening length of his cock and squeezes, rubs until his hips are stuttering forward and he's aching for the press of his own fingers.

Blaine watches Kurt; he watches the swipe of a pink tongue over just-as-pink lips, the way Kurt tips his head back and lets out a groan that would almost be lost if Blaine hadn't been specifically listening for it. He slides deeper, ignoring the tickle of his gag reflex, the guttural sound of a slight choke before he relaxes his throat enough to slide until his lips meet the circle of his fist, his saliva already running slick down his fingers and hand.

When he slides off he adjusts his grip, curling his fingers around the suction cup. He flattens his tongue, runs it from the curve of the balls all the way up to the ridge just under the head, where he points his tongue and trails it featherlight up across the slit before sinking his mouth down again and sucking hard.

"Jesus. _Blaine_." Kurt sounds strained, just about as desperate as Blaine feels, timbre low and sinking deep into Blaine's skin, wrapping around his head and drawing a moan deep from his chest as he squeezes his cock through too much clothing.

They both start to undo their jeans at the same time, Blaine letting the dildo drop to the bed, and he makes as much haste as he can getting off his jeans and boxer-briefs, discarding them to the floor and circling his cock with his fist; he bucks up into the circle of pressure with a relieved groan.

"How is it you can still be so gorgeous even on webcam?" Kurt's voice stops the slow-steady pumping of Blaine's fist; when he looks back at his laptop again Kurt's pushed himself a little further back from his, down to his undershirt and naked from the waist down. Blaine's mouth waters and he nearly whimpers at the sight of Kurt's cock for the first time in so long (_way too long_). He misses working over the insides of Kurt's thighs, teasing him until he's arching up and swearing, fingers tight in Blaine's hair.

"I could ask you the same question," Blaine replies with a quirked half-smile, finding the bottle of lube next to his leg. He clicks the cap open and coats three fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up, bringing his lips into his mouth as he thinks about the best to go about giving Kurt the best view possible.

When he deems it warm enough he shifts, turns around, and behind him he can hear Kurt's stuttered, questioning voice before he brings the slick fingers to his hole and sinks one in to the last knuckle.

His gasp slides into a moan, eyes squeezing shut as his other fingers drag down the divide of his ass to his perineum. It's not enough, not yet, and he barely gives himself enough time to adjust before he's sliding in another; this time his moan is louder, wanton, and he pushes back when he crooks his fingers just right, the sting of too much too fast fading quickly in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

"Fuck, Blaine, I wish you could see yourself." Kurt's voice cuts sharply through his thoughts, stirring the foggy arousal he's drifting idly in. He grunts in response, tilting his hips downward as he rubs his ring finger around the stretched rim of his hole, the slip-slide of lube just beginning to dry when he slips that third in with a gasp.

"_Kurt_," Blaine moans, dropping his head to his stacked pillows, his breath harsh and loud and panting where it echoes under his body. With his eyes opened enough he can barely make out the glow of the laptop between his legs, his cock heavy and full and dripping onto the sheets, begging for a touch, a steady hand with long fingers and delicate skin.

His wrist is beginning to ache, a dull throb-and-burn deep within muscle and ligaments, but he keeps going, works his fingers until the lube nearly dries and he feels open, relaxed. He's a little surprised at how quiet Kurt's been, the thought slightly unnerving because Kurt's never quiet; he always vocal, telling Blaine what he wants and what he wants _Blaine_ to do or say. The flush creeps back into his cheeks at that thought as he slides his fingers out and straightens up, his mind set on a loop of every filthy thing Kurt's ever said in his smooth voice.

There's a moment where he debates whether or not to lick the suction cup of the dildo to wet it, a sigh of relief when it easily sticks to his headboard so he doesn't have to. It just takes a few strokes and twists of his hand slickened with a palmful of lube to get the toy ready.

His stomach flutters again anxiously, arousal curling and coiling like a waiting snake low in his abdomen when he faces his laptop again. Kurt's still watching him with a hungry gaze, hand wrapped around his cock. Blaine groans, kneeling and running a hand through his hair at the sight.

He says, "_Kurt_," on a voice that's not quite a whine and not quite a plea; it's somewhere between, a gray area, but Kurt knows, like he always does, able to read Blaine's expressions and gestures and body and voice with only a glance or a split-second listen.

Kurt slips his palm over the head of his cock, twisting his wrist with a flick on the way down, and Blaine watches, transfixed, eyes wide and heart pounding staccato in his chest. He says it again, _Kurt_, reverently, like a prayer even though Blaine doesn't really pray.

"Well," Kurt drawls, an eyebrow raised even as Blaine quivers and twitches and whimpers on his bed, "aren't you going to prove to me that you're still my perfect little slut?"

Blaine's shoving his pillows to the floor, then, raising himself up on his knees and grabbing onto the base of the toy to line the head up; he sinks back with a sigh, his breath hitching when the head slips in. he reaches the base and drops onto his hands and knees, wriggling to get used to the feeling. It's different-yet-familiar, the weight the same but with it the knowledge that it's not Kurt, that Kurt isn't here.

He is watching, though, and now Blaine runs on the autopilot of his inherent need to please, to make Kurt feel as good as he's feeling now with the heavy weight of something inside him.

Still, as Blaine rocks forward, going by feel until the ridge of the head is the only thing keeping his stretched open, and slides back, the movements are very much the same and he lets out a low groan, squaring his shoulders as he repeats, sliding halfway down this time before back to the base, the pliant skin of the silicone balls pressing against him.

"Do you miss my cock, baby?" Kurt asks, sudden and loud to Blaine after a silence broken only by his own noises. Blaine's eyes snap open—he hadn't even been aware that he'd closed them in the first place—and he looks at Kurt, expectant, knows his eyes are probably wide. "I bet you do, sweetheart," Kurt continues, stroking up his cock once more, and Blaine shamelessly follows every movement. "You're so desperate already, gorgeous. I could tell you to do anything and you'd do it."

"Yes, fuck. Miss it. Miss you. So, so much," Blaine pants, pushing himself back hard once more, swiveling and circling his hips as the dildo sinks back in him to the base. He tosses his head back and groans, his cock jerking as he manages to angle his hips just right, the head brushing directly against that spot. "Oh, fuck, oh _fuck_."

"Look at you, greedy boy. You're not happy unless there's a dick in you, are you, baby? Need something in that pretty mouth as well as in your perfect ass." Kurt is simpering, cooing even as his words work like open-palmed slaps against just the right parts of Blaine's body.

He nods his head in silent agreement, panting, and reaches a hand behind himself to feel where he's stretched around the dildo, where it slides slickly in and out. The fingers of the hand holding him up clench hard into the sheets as he pushes back, undulating his torso and raising his ass; the dildo slides deeper, angling just right, and Blaine's cry is half a scream, eyes rolling in the back of his head as his body spasms of its own volition, making his spine twist and curve and bow.

With great force Blaine blinks his eyes back open, making them to focus on the blue-white glow of his laptop screen, at the grainy, slightly-delayed image of Kurt through their Skype connection. He can just barely see the fast, blurry movement of Kurt's fist on his cock, his moans and filthy praises tinny and crackling. Blaine hates that Kurt's gone, hates that the dick in his ass is cool, hard silicone (even though it's designed to warm to body temperature) and not hot, heated flesh with a pulse. He hates that Kurt isn't there to grip his hips, to ground him and make him come harder than ever each time. He hates that he can't hold Kurt in his hand, can't work his fist twisting-up the length of his cock to watch the soft, flushed skin bunch up and smooth out with each jerk.

The headboard bumps against the wall with every push back, pleasure unfolding and spreading throughout his body like a blooming flower, the creeping tendrils licking their way through every nerve ending. He cries out at another well-angled thrust, the noise tapering into a high whine as he supports his weight with one hand and reaches the other under himself, gripping his cock and feeling the head slick with sticky pre-come. "Fuck me," he gasps, pants. "Oh, god, fuck me, Kurt. Please, baby. I don't want to be able to walk tomorrow, I—_ooh, yes_."

He knows he's barreling toward desperation, his voice becoming wrecked and scratchy with every thrust back onto the dildo attached to his headboard. He thinks he probably could have used more lube as the slide starts to get drier, but all it does is enhance the feeling, makes the memories of when this was real just that much sharper.

"God, yes, that's it," Kurt breathes, the words fading into a moan. He's tipped his head back, the angles of his jaw visible as he swallows hard, drops his jaw and pants. "Fuck yourself just like that. So desperate, working yourself on that cock like you can't get enough, and your greedy ass probably can't, can it?"

Blaine can see himself in his own little Skype square, see his wet, red lips, jaw slack as each breath is pushed out of him. He sees the rocking movement of his body, the play of light over his bare arms and neck. It's all so perfect, so amazingly filthy that he lets himself drop to his elbows, keeping his ass high in the air as he rocks backward, fingers digging into the sheets.

"Feels so good," he whines, circling his hips again, working up-then-down. The head of the toy rubs against his prostate, sending jolts through his body as the heat flares up in his lower abdomen, spreading and spreading and spreading. "O-oh _shit_. I'm gonna come, Kurt. Fuck, oh god, _yes_, make me come."

"Gorgeous," Kurt says again, his own voice pinched and hitched. "You're so fucking gorgeous, baby. You look so good for me. Always my good boy, yes. God—I wish I could fuck you for hours, push you down and spread you out and make you take it. You're so pretty when you're getting fucked, _Christ_, you have no idea. Wanna—wanna come in you, fill you up."

Blaine twists on the bed, pushing himself back once more before he's crying out, bowing his back and whining as he starts to come. Everything fades out, turns to black and ringing noises as the pleasure overwhelms him. He can just barely hear Kurt's own high-pitched moans, the delayed noise of skin-against-skin quickening before slowing and finally fading out entirely. Blaine would regret missing Kurt's orgasm more if his body didn't feel heavy and pliant, every inch slick with sweat and limp with post-coital laziness.

He gives himself a moment before he's sliding off the dildo and settling to the bed away from the wet spot—and now he'll have to do laundry, _great_—with a sated sigh on his lips. "Oh my _god_."

Kurt laughs and Blaine looks up in time to see him nod his head, peeling his undershirt off. "I'd definitely be willing to try that again."

"I'd definitely prefer you to be here when we try it again," Blaine says, unable to keep the petulance from his voice. He's too lazy to lift his head from where he's pillowed it on his bicep and settles for tilting his laptop screen down until he can see himself on the screen.

"You're still so lazy after you come," Kurt comments with an eye roll, his cheeks still flushed-bright and eyes sparkling—though that could just be the play of light across them; Blaine's not too sure.

"You'd be too if you just fucked yourself on a pretty fantastic dildo," Blaine shoots back, a smile stretching its way across his lips.

Kurt's lips quirk and he pushes his hair from his forehead, letting the backs of his fingers linger across his skin. "Maybe I'll have to test your theory," he says with a sly little smile. "I have a long weekend coming up and a little extra money that I'd be willing to spend on a plane ticket."

Blaine closes his eyes and hums in agreement, tipping his nose into the crook of his elbow as his grin widens. "I'd like nothing more than to see your money go toward seeing _me_."

"You owe me dinner when I land," Kurt replies.

"And a blowjob," Blaine adds, finally lifting his head. "Actually, better yet—lots and lots of blowjobs. Because I really do miss your dick and all."

"The best date I could ever ask for." Kurt swoons. "My boyfriend is so perfect."

Blaine winks exaggeratedly. "I try, honey."


End file.
